


Coffee Klatch

by dorlgirl, loonietuna



Series: All My Tomorrows [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Martian, The Martian (2015)
Genre: Humor, M/M, Side Story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-10-11 02:21:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17438078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dorlgirl/pseuds/dorlgirl, https://archiveofourown.org/users/loonietuna/pseuds/loonietuna
Summary: Folks at S.H.I.E.L.D. are pretty invested in Chris and Steve's relationship.





	Coffee Klatch

**Author's Note:**

> A brief side story originally posted to Tumblr.

As was the case with most large organizations, the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division had policies in place for everything. Confidentiality, intellectual property, information technology, sexual harassment, governance, insider trading, pay stubs, OSHA, health care, family leave, disability claims, travel, expenses, vacations, child care, telecommuting. Even fraternization. One may snicker, but it was a necessary layer of bureaucracy in an entity that operated on a global scale.

The policy itself was relatively lax, if only out of necessity. When agents were in the field, it was natural, almost expected, that individuals might find themselves in certain situations. Stress, adrenaline, close quarters. Days, weeks, months undercover or in communications blackout with no backup beyond a teammate. Of course relationships were going to evolve once in awhile. Why punish good agents for something that organically just…happened? And since they had to maintain equality among the ranks, the policy had been widely adopted for all individuals in the pay of a certain clandestine government agency.

So yes. The fraternization policy wasn’t a burden on anyone under the SHIELD umbrella. If anything, it encouraged most agents and civilians working in-house to be attentive to their coworkers and keep lines of communication open. Director Romanoff herself had been invited to dozens of weddings and received countless birth announcements (mainly via monthly dockets summarizing requests to add said offspring to the medical policies offered by SHIELD).

With things running relatively smoothly, it was a small surprise to the fleet of managers in HR when they received instructions to institute a new policy regarding mandatory time off ‘post-mission’. Under normal circumstances, this wouldn’t cause scuttlebutt. Once it became clear that two particular persons were the catalyst behind it all, word quickly spread.

Captain Rogers and Dr. Beck. Generally, if there were an upset in the status quo, it was down to one or both of them. It wasn’t that they did anything wrong, per se. In fact, they were model employees and stuck well within the boundaries set by the fraternization policy. Usually. They were professional, polite, courteous (at least when a certain super soldier didn’t have his boxers in a twist over information disbursement protocols) and kept physical contact to a minimum (in camera sight lines anyway).

The biggest problem wasn’t even the Captain and his physician, or the numerous and creatively located rendezvous the pair engaged in. It was the busybody pilots and nurses that served under them.

The flight personnel seemed to have a particular soft spot for Dr. Beck. After all, anyone who could make their Captain take care of himself, use basic safety protocols, and rely on backup, was a miracle worker ten times over. And the nurses, well, they loved Beck too (along with every single patient the good doctor had seen). But the mystique and glamor that surrounded Captain Rogers? That was more titillating than any red carpet event that Hollywood could dream up. Just look at him, they whispered to each other. A legend with a moral compass that pointed north no matter the personal cost; a man who swayed nations through a bizarre combination of charisma and bull-headedness, and embodied all things good and right in the world. All that wrapped up in a few yards of Kevlar and reinforced canvas that, according to an inside source from the medical wing, Doctor Beck had personally cut away one overcast afternoon.

It wasn’t the (theoretical) fame or (hypothetical) fortune or (repeatedly confirmed) good looks those two were blessed with. It was fucking romance. And the worst part? The absolute worst aspect of this entire debacle for Director Romanoff? Wasn’t even Beck or Rogers or their rumored inability to keep their junk in their pants. It was the goddamn coffee klatches. She just did not have the patience to deal with people stumbling over Steve and Chris in random storage closets and empty hangers and not-dark-enough corners. Nat had gotten some complaints regarding lascivious activites, yes, but mostly? She’d had to discipline other agents for gossiping on the goddamn job.

Lately, it had been getting worse. Romanoff had received a disproportionate number of reports regarding pilots and nurses fraternizing more than usual, congregating in odd places after clearing catering out of caffeine and pastries. And once she investigated? Well. She discovered that her premier military icon and star medical professional had caused quite the stir. Those nurses and pilots had been gathering for gossip sessions, cooing over the besotted face Rogers made when he spoke with Beck and the whispered endearments Beck husked into the phone while Rogers was flying back from Pune or Lagos.

Thankfully, her people had, for the most part, limited themselves to gossip. “Barrow was walking down to the armory and totally walked in on the Doc bent over a pallet of ammunition with Captain America serving him one hell of a helping of good old fashioned patriotism” and “Was that on Tuesday? Because I heard Rogers was flat on his back over a crate down in the mail center getting the physical of his life. Danielewski said so!” were the typical Thursday afternoon or Sunday morning conversation topics circulating DC headquarters.

There had been one individual in counterintelligence who decided that hacking the security feeds was a good idea. That particular agent had tried to auction off papparazzi pictures of SHIELD’s front-running romantic couple, reuniting after over a fortnight apart. It took less than an hour until she had been permanently stationed at the SHIELD relay station in Arctic Tundra, ensuring dietary resources were properly distributed among the scientific team studying the relative age of ice in large bore drill studies. Natasha was absurdly proud that the woman’s underlings had reported her faster than the ever-running program tracers caught her keystroke actions.

“Berris, thanks for getting this policy drawn up so quickly. Take it down to HR and make sure they send out a company-wide email notifying all personnel that they and their partners are now automatically granted twenty-four hours leave post-mission without need to request the time off.”

“Yes, Director,” the small dark-haired rep from legal bowed slightly, much to Nat’s displeasure. “Anything else, Ma’am?”

“Yeah. Send someone down to storage bay two and tell them to talk very loudly about fumigation or something.”

Berris smirked. “Are the Captain and his inamorato down there again?”

“How did you guess.” Nat rubbed forehead and briefly contemplated the good old days when all she had to worry about was a global war or terrorist splinter cells. “Who thought it was a good idea to send Rogers to Beck in the first place?”

“That would be you, ma’am,” Berris replied, face as smooth as silk.

Nat narrowed her eyes at the legal aid. “Dismissed, Berris.”


End file.
